Could it be possible that I love you more today than I did last year?
I’m in Paris. For 10 days. Alone. Without you.
But everywhere I go, I find thoughts of you.
Every little toddler with a dawdling walk, a troubled cry, a quest to stuff his face with hot chips. I see you.
And of course.
It’s easier without you.
I don’t have a routine running through my head most moments of the day.
I don’t have to compromise on the things I’d like to delight in because of you.
Don’t even get me started with prams and access.
It is so so so much easier.
But the funny thing is.
I’d say easier doesn’t necessarily mean happier.
I want to stroke my fingers through your hair.
Rub your back and sneak my fingers through your t-shirt.
I want to massage your chubby legs and say, “Oh my handsome”.
I want to watch you delight in toddler pools and trampolines.
Watch you delight in more than half of my pain au chocolat.
I know now.
Missing you is the only karmic balance for being away from you.
And that is ok.
It’s all part of the deal.